All Else Fails
by rotorviator
Summary: IchiIshi. Ichigo was fed-up, done for, pissed off; screwed over by the universe. It wasn't as if he could be expected to do anything particularly rational, really. WIP.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Not enough of this pairing around, I swear. Feedback makes Ishida blush. And you surely know as well as I do, deep in our hearts, that that's one of the darned cutest things _ever._ :D**

He hissed in frustration as the tangled headphone cord slipped from his fingers and fell to the tarmac. It was one of those days, those maddening days, where nothing goes quite right, and by the end of them the simplest thing would reduce him to a spastic, seething mess. He stood over the black wires, and dragged his hands through his hair. His eyes screwed shut, and he tried to take deep breaths, before swinging down to pick the headphones up with more force than necessary. His knuckles caught the ground, and left behind a little skin.

He let out a strangled growl, and stomped off to find a quiet spot, preferably with a radiator, so he could attempt the calm the frick down, and not, you know, kill anyone, or himself (throwing himself out a fourth-storey window in some act of complete desperation didn't seem too bad an idea right now) or whatever.

Perhaps he was being a little melodramatic.

Well. He figured he was owed a little self-indulgence, in all honesty, considering the thoroughly shitty day he'd had so far, which had screwed him over before he'd even woken up, thanks to some hideous dream that he couldn't even properly remember, but. But, he'd woken up shaking and scared as hell. Two and a half hours early, too, and he couldn't go back to sleep. Every tiny thing had gone wrong, every minuscule insignificant thing. No clean clothes in the morning, so he'd had to wear awful damp just-washed ones, then the rain on the way in that left his feet sodden, and the lack of breakfast before that, and of course, he had no money to buy lunch, too, and he couldn't get the answers right in class nor could he concentrate, and then he'd said something utterly tactless at break (he forgot what, exactly) and everyone had looked at him funny, and his pencil lead kept breaking, and Ishida hadn't even talked to him today, had just stalked off when he tried to be companionable, and, and -

"_Godammit_!" He yelled, as the foam covering over one earbud twisted off and fell in a muddy puddle. He stamped one foot into said puddle and pulled a face. He was somewhat aware he was acting like a total child, but, hey. He was too busy acting like a total child to care.

It was lunchtime, and he didn't want to be around the usual group, being in such a black mood as he was, and unwilling to even attempt to make halfway polite conversation. If they wanted glares and curses, he would join them. Instead, he headed for an always-empty alcove in a far corner of the school, and slumped down to sit cross-legged there. Hungry. Cold. Damp, too. Not that he was feeling sorry for himself; more that he was wallowing thickly in his own self-pity. But apart from that, life was great.

He moaned quietly and his head dropped down onto his chest. Stomach rumbled. What a bitch, he thought inanely, and hit himself in the side a few times to shut himself up. It didn't work, and there were suddenly footsteps. Brisk, snapping footsteps, and Ishida came into view.

Ichigo decided to keep his head down and stubbornly ignore him.

"Ignoring me now, Kurosaki? Ah, wait, but you've been doing that all day. So, nothing new."

Ichigo stayed silent. He wasn't happy with that, though, he hadn't been the one doing the ignoring, not at all. Stupid fr-

"Mature. Very much so."

Silence.

"You're an idiot, Kurosaki."

"Go _'way!_"

"As I said, very mature."

"Have you seriously nothing better to do, Ishida?" He muttered, head still down.

"Ah? Didn't catch that."

The bastard was standing directly over him, now, and he could take him down, he bet, if he wanted to. He didn't. He could, though. Ichigo looked up and snarled.

"I'm not gonna repeat myself. Shut up. Go do something useful. Far away from me."

"That's not kind at all."

"Who the hell said I was ever trying to be kind?" He said indignantly.

"Probably the same person who said you had manners." Ishida shook his head, and his hair swayed.

Ichigo squinted at him. "That's an insult, right?"

Ishida sighed. "No. Of course not. Why would I, of all people, ever want to do that?"

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you." Well, it kinda did. But flattery didn't suit either of them, and he wasn't about to say that out loud, so he kept his mouth shut.

There was a brief interlude of calm. Tense, thudding calm, but it was quiet, at least. Ichigo let his head loll forward onto his chest, and a few moments afterwards he heard (and sort of felt) Ishida slide to the ground and sit.

"Don't get your uniform dirty on my account," he mumbled.

"What on earth's up with you, Kurosaki?"

Ichigo started. That was odd. He wasn't supposed to say things like that. That wasn't right. That put things out of joint.

"I mean, I know it's been strange, what with," his voice dropped slightly, "you losing your powers, and such, and Rukia leaving, but-"

"That's nothing to do with it," said Ichigo, and he raised his head to look straight at Ishida.

"Whatever, then. But you seem particularly disturbed today, you know."

"Particularly? What, I come across as disturbed all the time? The hell, you –"

Ishida cut him off by raising a hand, and Ichigo glared sullenly at him. "Tcha. Don't start. I'm not asking out of the goodness of my heart, here. The group's just a little anxious, is all. Are you going to join us, or are you going to curl up here and sulk?"

"The sulking was nice, 'til i saw your face." 'Kay, he hadn't meant to say that. That was incredibly lame.

"I think your comebacks just hit a new low, Kurosaki."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here we are, please enjoy! Drop a line or three and my heart will fill with joy and happiness. Also, I'm not quite sure whether to make this just, fluff, or to flesh it out some. Could go either way. Anyone has any ideas, I'd be pitifully grateful. D:**

Ishida stayed with him through lunch, a few feet away, knees drawn up and a thoughtful expression on his face. It made Ichigo a little nervous, to see that look; that thinking look, like he was turning things over in his head, things that could involve anyone, even-

The bell rang, and it shrieked through his head. He was off-balance and sluggish from lack of sleep, and his head wasn't working quite right, and it reminded him of this by introducing a damning, stabbing pain into his temples at sporadic intervals. Ishida was looking at him. His head got worse. Ishida looked at him a little harder.

"Idiot," he sighed. Ichigo glared at him woozily. "You really are. Just, stay there. Stay still, sit back. There won't be students coming through here anyway."

Ichigo did as he was told, 'cause come on, the guy wasn't that weak. Huge-ass blinding arrow between the eyes if he didn't behave, that's gonna smart, just like –_ugh_- his head kept –

"Can you take these, Kurosaki, or do I have to feed them to you?" Said Ishida curtly, with a bottle of water in one hand and two pills resting in the palm of the other. Where the frick had he gotten those? Ichigo stared fuzzily.

"Ah - I can take them, I'm not a child, just give, give them me," he said, and his hands shook as he reached out, fingers grazing against Ishida's. His weak hands were carefully pushed away, and Ishida let out a soft huff of breath, and knelt in front of him.

"Shush," he said, and gently plied Ichigo's mouth open with the tips of his fingers. "Stick your tongue out."

Ichigo obeyed, eyes wide and red-rimmed. The tablets were placed on his tongue, and he briefly thought how lame he must look, all sleepy and messed-up with his tongue hanging out his mouth. His thoughts spun deliriously, and he blinked, slowly. With the tablets in place, he brought his tongue back, and Ishida lifted the bottle of water to his lips, and he drank hesitantly, swallowed, and looked curiously at Ishida. Tiredness claimed him before he could look too closely, though, and he drew his head back, eyes sliding shut.

0O0

He didn't realise he'd fallen asleep until last bell went, and he was dragged back into the real world. He levered himself upright and wondered why his head didn't feel like someone was driving a pickaxe through it - ah. Ishida. It would probably be a good idea to thank him. He felt his face heat up at the memory of his helplessness, and he was trying to rid himself of that train of thought when he realised he was alone. Dark corridor, empty alcove. Shit! If he ran now, he could probably catch the guy, coming out of class. He staggered the first few steps, but he was sprinting before he reached the first set of doors leading out.

"Ishida? Ah, he went home early. Looked pretty awful, to be honest with ya, all red and shaky. You know what's up? I don't. Eh, poor guy," said Tatsuki, gesturing airily. "He lives over there somewhere, though, see, go visit if you're worried.."

"The hell?" Ichigo exclaimed, "I'm not worried, he can take care of himself," (and me, he tried wildly not to think, and me), "so he'll be back tomorrow, no problem."

Tatsuki raised an eyebrow. "Right. 'Kay. …Ah, my street, see ya." A wave, and he was alone. Alone with his thoughts, though, and that was not somewhere he felt like being subjected to. He ran home for the hell of it, and slept the evening away, and the night, and dreamt strange dreams, and woke the next morning wondering what the hell he was gonna do.

Walking to school, he considered his options. It was raining heavily, damp and deep, and the rhythm of it was conducive to important thinking. Seriously. One, he could wipe his head clean, and pretend yesterday never actually happened. That it was, uh, a hallucination, or a bad dream, or something. Then, all he would have to do would be to not look at Ishida for a few days, until the memory of that imaginary non-day faded like tea stains from a white shirt, and everything would be lovely.

He could stomp into school and pull his face into an angry grimace and challenge Ishida to a really, really macho fight. That. That was tempting. He wasn't sure which aspect of it was, though, and so he flipped neatly to option three. Three was admittedly not his favourite. It was, however, the one that required the last work, and the least pretending, and the plan ran as follows: he would walk into school. Attend his lessons. Be cool. Treat Ishida as normal. Be very cool. Be completely normal. Not forget about it; but just put it behind him. Go home, eat sleep breathe study be totally cool and repeat. Tcha, he'd got it all sorted.

Then first period began. His lovingly-crafted plan went up in white-hot, licking flames. Right, right, he was in class, and everything was fine. He got his head down for once and did work. He thought about his notes, he thought about the weather, he thought about his approaching weekend, about lunch, and a lot of things, really. He didn't notice Ishida wasn't there; he really, really, really didn't notice, he assured himself, and he was prepared to move on from that slight, odd not-disappointment-nor-relief feeling in the centre of his chest, when Mr. Absent himself walked in.

He apologised to the teacher, rattled off some crappy excuse, glided over to the seat behind Ichigo's, and sat down. Ichigo heard him get his book out, open it, start writing. His face started burning. He raised a hand to it and felt the warmth, then slapped his cheeks once or twice to make it _stop_, and then he realised his hands were _shaking_, and then he swore and only just restrained himself from beating his head into the desk hard enough to knock him unconscious. That would be so nice, though. Oblivion. Right now, he was totally up for some sweet, relaxing oblivion.

He sat up and forcefully tugged his mind back into a semblance of order. Carried on with his work. He made it till almost lunch until his brain grew bored with differential equations and reminded him that Ishida had come in from the _rain_. And rain was _wet, _remember, so, he was _wet, _too, Ichigo? No, he thought hysterically, I'd forgotten. I'd completely forgotten! How kind of you to remind me! He wandered to the group's usual spot with his food, with his brain locked in a bitter argument with itself. Wow, said a small, impartical segment of his mind. Wow, this is weird.

Through lunchtime he was on auto-pilot, glaring and laughing and lashing out at the right time, at the right people, and ignoring the fact that Ishida wasn't there. He wasn't there. Ichigo felt relieved, that the person - his kinda-rival, to be honest, which only made it worse - who had seen him so thoroughly out of it, and had, touched him like that and helped him out and, and yeah; that he wasn't there. When it seemed that everyone's attention was on some sketch that Mizuiro and Keigo were acting out (Keigo pouring heart and soul into it, Mizuiro looking a little less enthusiastic), he fiddled with the hem of his shirt absent-mindedly, and zoned out, looking out at the sky. It was nice, really, not too cold here, the sky all blotchy with greys and off-whites in an interesting sorta way, the smell of the rain on the air, it smelt clean -

("Just, stay there," said a voice, "stay still, sit back.")

(Someone touched his lips, so softly.)

(The water was cold. Sweet.)

"Kurosaki! Open your eyes, moron!" Ishida snapped. Ichigo yelled in rude shock, and flung himself backwards several feet in one hasty movement.

"You're not meant to do that, you bastard! Give people some warning, huh?" He howled. Ishida rolled his eyes, and motioned for Ichigo to stand.

"Shut up, and come with me."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Angst! Gore! Urahara! Uh, yay. Just kidding, I like Urahara. But, I figure all the misery is necessary, sorry, so if you can wade through the unhappiness and such, happiness will certainly prevail next chapter. Hurrah! **

**Can I also say, I'm liking the new Bleach arc! Just read chapter 436 and I was like ooooh. The art just seems to get better and better… Chad (and Ichigo too) seems to get hotter and hotter, as well, or is that just me. O.o**

It was beginning to get dark.

"What is this? We've been going through these same streets for like hours now, and there's nothing here, nothing!" Ichigo exclaimed, "why'd you drag me outta school for, anyway? This is ridi-"

Ishida stopped walking, and held up a hand. He was gazing at the junction that cut along the end of the road ahead, glasses catching on the light of the flickering streetlamps.

"Shh, Kurosaki," he breathed. He focused on that same spot for a moment more, then turned to Ichigo with urgency scrawled across his face. "There's an alley, there, see the wall in front of it? Go there, wait there, stay _silent_, and keep your eyes open. Quickly. Quickly!" He twisted to push his palm against Ichigo's chest, jostling him in the direction of his hiding-place. It made no sense to him. No sense at all, but Ishida was smart, maybe in some ways more than others, but he (Ishida had helped him, remember, when he-) but Ishida had done some clever things before like this, so he'd humour him. Whatever the frick was going on.

He was nervous, strangely enough.

He folded himself into the shadows, and watched. He watched, and watched, and realisation bled into him and he knew Ishida was fighting – he was fighting, fighting Hollows, presumably, not that he could see the monsters or even Ishida's weaponry, but he knew those stances, and it wasn't like there weren't plenty of the masked bastards still skulking about – but this wasn't right, there was something off here –

0O0

He had been, in all honesty, freaking out, when Ishida had snapped him from his doze, and ordered him straight out the school gates. 'Cause for one thing, his carefully-formed plans had left him in a frightened whuff of white smoke, and he didn't know how to act. He opted for 'slight prickishness', and hoped that would tide him over. It was all he had.

They had began pacing up and down and along every street, it seemed, in the vicinity. He'd jogged a little after Ishida at first, pestered him to spill, to explain what was going on, and he had received no satisfactory answer.

"I have a job to do," he'd said. Or, "I'm trying to concentrate, Kurosaki." "Pay attention to where we're going and where we are." He'd done so, kinda, and he knew they were several blocks away from Urahara's place (a landmark he occasionally resented using) when Ishida had stopped and sent him scurrying away.

He was scared, now. This was wrong, because although he couldn't see shit, he could still sorta see Ishida. He could watch Ishida (all day, murmured his mind, you could watch him all day) no, though, no, he could tell from the wild, harried edge to his movements, that he was outnumbered. With each desperate swing and pull and duck, he was struggling, and Ichigo was utterly powerless to help. He crouched there, peeking from over a ridge of bricks, and he was breathing shallowly, quick pants. There was the smell of dusty stone in his nostrils; he was shivering, trembling, muscles wailing to be allowed to lash out at these invisible creatures and _do something._

It was getting darker by the minute, too, and within five minutes of Ishida's mad parrying and firing, he couldn't clearly see the boy's movements unless he danced, briefly, under the circle of a streetlamp. He caught flashes. Ishida's face, flushed and with fear in the set of his mouth; the stumble in his step as one leg gave slightly and he had to hurl himself to one side, presumably to avoid the claws of a Hollow.

Godammit! He couldn't take this, this was stupid, crazy! Ishida was breathing hard, so loudly he could hear it, and Ichigo felt a shiver crease his spine. Something crashed to the ground, and there was a noise like a branch cracking, and Ishida stopped short, glancing around in sharp jerks of his head. He turned to check over where Ichigo was waiting, and for a second their eyes might have met. He span back around at some unseen disturbance, battle-ready.

Then there was – suddenly then – there was one heart-breaking, world-destroying second in which Ishida's back split open wide, the chasm spanning galaxies; impossible that blood could ever splatter so thickly against the pavement, inconceivable that he should only have let that thin, weeping moan tear from him. There was some odd, indefinable lifting of pressure from around them; the Hollows, gone? And he toppled, and fell, and _splashed_ as he met the tarmac.

His mind, unhelpful as ever, told him it really hadn't been a very good week, had it? Perhaps he was just unlucky like that. Really, he –

Ichigo somehow unlocked his limbs and hurtled towards where Ishida lay, his legs stumbling and his hands clumsy, what did he do – what did he do, here? The reek of blood hung heavy, seeping through the air, seeping through Ishida's clothing, seeping from his body, through the slash in his back. The fuck! This wasn't meant to happen, this wasn't part of any deal! The rising tide of panic threatened to pull him under the surface.

"Don't you fucking even think about dying, idiot, moron, don't even think, don't even think about it, stupid, stupid, don't you dare," he muttered, an endless litany of alternating curses and pleas. His hands fluttered over the body before him, needing to _do_ something but utterly incapable of doing anything at all. What was it he was meant to do in this situation; could he move him? Should he move him? Could he try..?

"To one side, Kurosaki-kun. Move, please."

Ichigo may have gaped.

"Kurosaki-kun? He's okay, you know," said Urahara, "he's actually not dead. Really, don't look like that, he's not dead. Which, is quite impressive, you know. He's nearly dead. But not dead yet. It won't be easy to heal him, either, so I'd say that you move, now, and let me work."

Ichigo fell lamely, out of the way. He watched as the pool of blood ceased to grow, and he noticed Ishida's breathing become a little more regular, a little stronger, a little more like he was actually still alive. What the fuck had just happened? Why – had Ishida known there was a threat? Yeah, surely he must've, he must've known, in which case, why drag him out too? It wasn't that he was much of a partner in battle anymore. Not this kind of battle. He was useless, here.

He noticed his hands were visibly shaking.

He stood, when Ishida's condition was stabilized, and Urahara gently lifted the blood-stained body, and assured him that whilst Ishida-kun would not be attending school tomorrow, he would be perfectly well cared-for, and Kurosaki-kun was more than welcome to stop by the store and say hello, after class. He nodded dumbly, and began to walk home on weak legs.

Maybe tomorrow, his mind offered, maybe tomorrow will be better. It's not all sunshine and roses right now, huh, Ichigo? Poor you. Poor Ishida, really – but you're well aware of that. Seems sorta like fate has it in for both of you. You shouldn't have come along in the first place.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: It's here, it's up, finally. Yay. :D**

This is pretty shit, he thought, the next morning. The morning after, that. Ishida falling like that, that wasn't meant to happen. He wasn't meant to crumple to the ground like that and bleed so much, it just wasn't _right._ It had been a hideous night just past, a night of constant worry and sheets either too hot or too cold, and a non-stop rumble of nagging, guilty voices in his mind. That never boded well for one's sanity, either. The voices in my head kept – yeah, yeah.

Morning came, though, as morning did, after his awful night, and school was sadly compulsory, 'cause as easily as he could've skipped, he actually needed to catch up with his work. The frequent trips to Soul Society and subsequent adventures had nearly butchered his chances of getting into a decent college unless he got his act together, quick. Ishida'd probably be fine, he considered lamely, since he's smart and – Ishida. Damn. He could do without thinking about, that. The day melted from lessons through to lunch and lessons after, and it wasn't until he was walking dazedly home that he remembered he could head to Urahara's. Then he realised he'd actually been walking towards the man's shop without thinking about it.

Resigned to his fate, as perverse and unhelpful as it seemed to be, he stopped for a visit. Urahara welcomed him with fan waving and a particularly strange expression on his face, and bade him without a word to a small, sparse room near the back. There, Ishida half-lay on a futon, propped up amongst mounds of cushions, reading. As Ichigo entered, he looked up, and put his book to one side.

"I did wonder if you'd drop by," he said. Ichigo opened his mouth, closed it. Ishida looked pretty horrendous, his skin a grey hue, his glasses not hiding the deep, black circles below his eyes. His shoulders had a pained, weary cant to them, and the thin shirt he was wearing only showed expanses of bandaged torso.

"You're an idiot," was all Ichigo could think to say.

"That may be so," was the response. An unexpected one. Ichigo looked at him in alarm.

"What? You're not meant to agree!"

"For once, you're right. So am I supposed to disagree, still?"

"Tcha – just – what was that all about? I mean, I understand you gotta take on more than your share at the minute, although they've been better at posting a few more shinigami here, it's still tough, but why-"

"You're babbling," Ishida cut in. "Don't look at me like that. I had my reasons, you don't know them, all's well. I'm nearly completely healed, so I'll be gone from here soon."

"Bullshit," Ichigo spat, "you look like crap, you shouldn't even be conscious! No _way_ you're going anywhere at all until you look like a human being!"

There was a heavy silence, punctuated only by Ichigo's angry huffs of breath.

"Worried, Kurosaki?" Ishida said lightly, picking up his book and flipping through it with thin fingers. Ichigo threw his hands in the air, and made some unintelligible noise of frustration. He was pissed-off, that was all he knew; he couldn't say why, had no idea why, but he didn't like this, something didn't sit right with him. None of this got any simpler, the further he tried to wade through it. It. What was 'it'? Or, 'this'? That didn't make sense, either.

Ishida coughed, and spoke again, slowly. "I thought I would fight better if you were there," a soft sigh, "but, it seemed that I was mistaken. I apologise for making such a scene, and involving you, as well."

His head didn't seem to be capable of forming a coherent response to that. All Ichigo could think to do was stalk over to where Ishida rested, pick the book from his hand and toss it to one side (ignoring the annoyed "What – Kurosaki –"), then, with face lowered and hidden by hair, begin to deftly remove and re-arrange the cushions supporting him, so that Ishida was horizontal, safely lying down.

Ishida was looking at him with wide, dark eyes. He didn't see that, though, even when he stood up, placed his hands on his hips, and, gaze askance, said:

"Now sleep, dumbass. Don't read, don't think, just sleep, goddamn it. You're never gonna get strong again otherwise," and walked out of the room, sliding the door shut behind him.

For some reason, Ishida fell asleep soon after.

For some reason, Ichigo was shaking. Urahara was waiting outside in the hallway, suspiciously close to the doorway, when he exited. Ichigo was desperate to get outside and get home and do _something_ that didn't involve thinking, but Urahara proved a swift blockade.

"You know," he said, one eye glinting from below his hat, "I'm really very surprised Ishida managed what he did. They were incredibly dangerous Hollows, there, very powerful indeed. And yet –" a gasp, "-he defeated them all! It was only sheer chance that the last one got in a dying swipe!"

"What's your point?" Ichigo said curtly. Urahara smiled.

"No point, no point. Just, it's rather lucky you were there. It's a good thing he brought you with, ne? …Now, shoo! Feel free to drop by tomorrow!" A wink, and he was abruptly standing outside, feeling cheated. Oddly enough. Hn.

0O0

Day after day passed without incident. His visits to see Ishida were awkward, quiet affairs, consisting mainly of him dropping by with schoolwork to be done (although Ishida always had a slight suspicion that he withheld half the work, as there was never quite enough to tire him) or get-well-soon messages from their friends. Who, incidently, had no idea what had actually occurred.

That was between the two of them, a secret, an accident never given voice. Ichigo - he didn't wanna think about it. He didn't have much choice. He was reminded of it in the path his feet took him every day after school, in every little damn inconsequential thing that happened to him.

What a piss-take, he thought. These past few days really weren't workin' out for him.

The fifth day after the 'accident', Ishida was back in school. He just, walked in late one morning, murmured an apology, and took his seat. That was enough to shake Ichigo from his class-induced stupor, and he stared openly at the boy, anxiously noting the thin line of bandages through his shirt, the weariness in his step. He tracked Ishida down at lunch, and dragged him back to their previously-used alcove.

He had a few things that needed saying, if not a plan.


End file.
